


countryside

by sundae_serenade



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundae_serenade/pseuds/sundae_serenade
Summary: Green's smile softens and his hand stills. He knows he’ll carry this summer in his heart, especially this moment. When the concrete and metal becomes too much, he’ll return to wheat fields and fireweed, a hand holding his.Green visits his sister Daisy in Solaceon Town.
Relationships: Ookido Green | Blue Oak & Red, Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Red
Comments: 29
Kudos: 93





	countryside

**Author's Note:**

> written for reguri discord august prompt - painting!
> 
> this takes place in au where there's just. no pokemon. LOL there's just no pokemon here and red and green didn't grow up together.
> 
> i listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7M0mZ37QLsU) a lot while writing. 
> 
> uhh, enjoy? idk man.

Green is graduating in the fall.

It’s exciting. He’s psyched about it. He’s tired of writing papers and putting together projects. The absence of coursework sounds too good to be true. His head is filled to the brim with information about ecology and physics and biology and he’s afraid nothing else will fit.

There’s also the networking he’s forced to do, sucking up to professors and receiving letters of recommendation and endorsements. He’s thinking about graduate school. He’s thinking about studying abroad in Lumiose instead of staying in Saffron. He’s been considering and stressing, but hasn’t made any solid plans yet. Green usually loses himself in coursework or his social life for distraction, but the inevitability is creeping up on him now.

Green elects to stay with his sister for the summer.

Daisy lives up north in the cool temperatures of Sinnoh. She lives in a farm town that doesn’t see much excitement. It’s quiet and simple and the days have little distinction between them. It’s a tight knit community. She knows everyone there by name. The people there visit each other often and give out courtesy pies and well wishes. It’s a little place called Solaceon Town.

Green rings his sister two weeks before the spring semester is over and she squeals on the phone from the news.

Their Grandfather lives much closer, but Green wants a new experience this time. He doesn’t want to be questioned and reminded of the environment he’s trying to escape. He needs wind and sky and leaves. He wants to spend the entire day watching the clouds move and he knows Daisy will leave him to let the days pass by.

The days leading up to his trip are hectic. He packs his things, takes care of some last minute business, attends meetings and outings with the intention of making it clear he won’t be able to be contacted. No, he won’t be going down to Fuchsia City to hit up the beach. He declines staying in Celadon for two weeks to get a feel for the nightlife there. Some of his acquaintances are taking a trip to Johto to tour the entire region before returning to school in two months.

Green wishes them well and sees them off with a smile. He’s going up north to his sister. He hasn’t seen her in a while. He needs to catch up. They let him go with sad smiles and waves and Green detaches himself from socializing and popularity to embrace being invisible in a town where no one knows his name.

There’s some sorrow in packing up his things in his car and looking back at his apartment. He feels a tinge of sadness when he shakes his roommates hand and tells him to take care. It’s par for the course. He’s leaving and he won’t be back for a while. When he comes back, he’ll have to hit the ground running. His mind and body aren’t ready for that. He pushes that dark reality out of his mind to drive to the airport. He needs to head north.

Daisy’s there waiting to pick him up when his flight lands. Standing next to Daisy is her girlfriend, Bebe. A computer genius who’s in charge of the infrastructure of some tech company with branches in all the major cities and some of the towns closeby. It’s his first time meeting her, though Daisy’s told him plenty over the phone.

Bebe looks like she just got out of bed, her ponytail having lost some of its height. But her handshake is firm and her smile is kind as they greet each other.

There’s hugs and talk about the town and all the things they’ll have to try and see. There’s anticipation in Daisy’s voice and she loops her arm with Green’s on their way to baggage claim and then the parking lot.

Bebe is kind enough to offer him the front seat and Green accepts her generosity. What he _hadn’t_ been expecting, is for Bebe to lean her knees against the back of his seat. That’s annoying, but it doesn’t take away from the changing scenery; nothing but hillsides and acres of land for miles on end. There’s not a skyscraper in sight.

The drive over isn’t too long, but Green’s a bit tired from his flight and dozes off. He wakes again when the car turns off and Daisy pinches his cheek to wake him, just like she used to do when they were kids.

“Here we are,” Daisy says, and before him is her beautiful Sinnohan home. It’s nice. Quaint. Homey with the black tiled roof and white exterior. The entryway to the front door could do with some color or little things to add personality and distinguish her home from the rest of the block, and Green tells her these things as he lugs his suitcase up the steps.

Daisy shoves him and Green laughs, nearly falling over onto the grass. It’s good to see her. Good to be out of the city and it’s suffocating environment.

Bebe’s the one to give him a tour, brief though it is. She directs him to where the bathroom is, the backdoor, and he’d seen the kitchen and living room on his way inside. The guest room is at the end of the hall, and after a quick reminder about dinner, they leave him to it.

Once Green gets settled, he looks out the open window pensively. The sunset is an alarming red-orange color, so striking that Green squints his eyes against its rays. He turns away from summer skies and looks to the town below. Houses are spread out from one another with large trees and sheds peppered around. The only congested part of the town is further up the road where the stores and other institutions are.

Far to his right, so far that he has to lean out of the window to see, there are fields of open land. Some of them are green with lush grass, but others are golden yellow. The sunset kisses the fields with honeyed lips. A breeze rushes by. Out there in the warm air is the break he’s been searching for.

Daisy’s in the kitchen cutting apples and he’s not sure where Bebe got to. He walks out the back door, down the two steps, and lets his heart pull him to those fields. He heads west, toward the sunset. There’s a lot to be conscious of while walking. The old road is rife with large rocks that are easy to trip over. There are clumps of dirt and vines that wrap around the broken down wooden fence. Green learns quickly to watch his footing. The sunset leads the way with gold light resting on the rocks.

When he breathes in, he can feel the freshness of the air. It’s free and filled to the brim with foreign smells. When he breathes out, he feels hungry. It takes one gulp of fresh air to remind him of how starved he’s been.

He reaches the wheat field in just a few minutes. The evening breeze is gracious today. The wheat agrees with it, flowing back and forth without a care. Green hops over the fence and his fingers tickle with the sensation of soft wheat against his palms. He keeps his fingers splayed as he continues deeper inside. The wheat parts like water to let him through. The sunset isn’t as striking now. It’s calmed down as the hour draws to a close. The tingling to his fingertips makes him smile.

Green walks with the sunset. He pushes himself to focus on what he’s presently feeling and seeing. Before him lies opportunity and secret things. Behind him lies every twist and turn he’s taken thus far. The road is still clearly seen from where he is, so he doesn’t fear getting lost. He can walk with his arms outstretched. He can close his eyes and feel the wind brushing against his ears.

Green collides with something and is sent tumbling into the wheat.

At first he thinks it’s a rock, which would be odd. A rock in the middle of a wheat field would be a pain in the ass while harvesting, wouldn’t it? But when he pulls himself up to his hands and knees, he sees that it isn’t a rock, but a _person_. A person who’s looking up at him in surprise and frustration.

Green has accidentally toppled onto someone, a guy wearing a bright red cap with umber brown hair and eyes as dark as coal. He’s got something that looks like a paintbrush in his right hand. Green flushes as he realizes that he’s taking his time removing himself from an inappropriate position with a stranger. He scrambles to sit up and move away, embarrassed.

“Sorry!” Green says quickly. He gets to his feet and wipes his hands on his jeans before offering his hand to the stranger. “I didn’t see you…” For the first time in the last ten years of his life, words are hard to come by.

The stranger takes his offered hand and stands, not looking Green in the eyes. He starts searching around the small spot in the wheat field.

Green sees something among the golden sea and bends over to pick it up. It’s a sketchbook. The front cover has been torn off, leaving nothing but a blank sheet of paper to help him identify what it is. The paper is thicker than he expects. He doesn’t look through it; even if he’s not an artist, he knows that’s a rude thing to do. He turns and holds it out. “This yours?”

The stranger lifts his head and narrows his eyes at Green. He takes the sketchbook and flips it open to a page. When he reaches it, his expression turns into a grimace. It’s dripping with dissatisfaction.

Ruined, and Green’s to blame. But really, who _sits_ in a wheat field? Green’s own expression twists with annoyance, but he’ll swallow his pride in this one instance. He’s just arrived in town and it wouldn’t do good to start an argument with someone who lives here. It’s always best to apologize and suck it up in order to avoid further grievances.

“Sorry again, about that, too,” says Green, pointing to the sketchbook. “Didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

The stranger eyes Green suspiciously. He flips to another page of his sketchbook and takes his paintbrush-- _pen_. It’s a pen in the shape of a paintbrush, like something a child would use to take notes in elementary school. The stranger starts writing something down and then flips his sketchbook over and holds it out in front of him, pushing it closer to Green’s face.

_who are you?_

“Isn’t it customary to introduce yourself first before asking someone else?” Green asks, gently pushing the sketchbook away from his face. Really, where’s that hospitality Green hears about so much on his phone calls with Daisy? At least the writing explains why the guy hasn’t said a word so far.

The stranger looks perplexed by Green’s question. He takes his sketchbook back and writes something down, then repeats the process of shoving it in Green’s face.

you _ran into_ me _. i’m asking the questions here_

A smartass, huh. Green tries to peel the irritation from his face. He once again pushes the sketchbook out of his line of sight. “Name’s Green. I’m Daisy’s brother.”

The stranger looks into Green’s eyes at that, maybe looking for a resemblance. Then, he starts writing in his sketchbook again and turns it around.

_i’m red_

“Really?” Green blurts. Strange that their names are so similar, but perhaps not that strange. There’s all kinds of people with all kinds of names everywhere. Maybe the strange thing is that the two of them just happened to meet. Either way, Green extends his hand in greeting. “A pleasure.”

Red stares down at Green’s hand. He closes his sketchbook and places it under his left arm. He shakes Green’s hand and offers a small smile in lieu of words, but Green gets the sentiment. _Likewise_ or something or other.

“So,” Green begins, because he can’t deny being intrigued by Red and his oddities. “Mind sharing why you were sitting in the middle of a wheat field?”

Red blinks. He turns west toward the sunset and watches the sky change incredibly in seconds. It is bright and damning one moment and then quiet the next, a soft reprieve after a hard day at work. Red sits back down on the ground and places his sketchbook in his lap. He looks up at Green and pats the spot beside him.

Sitting in the wheat field is what got them into this mess, so Green’s hesitant to join in. What if another unsuspecting person comes ambling through golden rods and knocks into them? Red continues to pat the soft ground, his eyebrows furrowing with impatience.

It’d be easy to turn around, let this encounter stay an encounter and return to his evening of fresh air and clear skies, but Green doesn’t like leaving things half finished. It’s a flaw he’s well aware of but has given him ample academic success. So, he yields. He sits down next to Red with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms supporting his weight from behind.

Before him is nothing but wheat and a dull brown darkness that fills the space between growths. Green is robbed of the sunset and it’s quiet goodbye. Now, he has the last shining lights of gold and the brown of the dirt.

He looks over to Red and notices that his eyes are closed. Red’s head is angled upward, his chin sticking out and his closed eyes aimed at the sky. The wind whirls around him, brushing against his white shirt and jeans and stirring the pages of his sketchbook.

Green’s pretty sure this doesn’t answer his question.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Green says. He taps his feet together as he waits. The sky darkens overhead. Stars show off their shine in the indigo of the evening. The wheat stretches upward from this angle, trying to claim as much of the sky as it can.

The sound of paper returns Green’s attention to Red. He’s opened his sketchbook again and he’s writing something down. He inches it closer to Green when he’s finished, pointing to the words he’s just written.

_we’re small_

“Are we?” Green ponders that thought. He looks up again at the sky which is now shifting to violet. With every blink of his eyes, another star steps onstage.

Red taps his shoulder with a finger and draws his attention to another phrase written on that same page of sketchbook paper.

_i wanted to feel it_

“Huh.” Green isn’t sure what it is that Red wanted to feel, exactly, but he does notice he’s written all the answers to Green’s questions in a pattern. He’s making a box shape out of the sentences and short words he’s writing down. When Green pulls back to behold it, it’s beautiful. How is he able to do that? To fit the words so precisely into specific sections that it becomes art?

Red is kind enough to show Green firsthand how he does it. He writes with that paintbrush-pen of his. The words are carefully etched in their perfect spot. They are curved and flowing, swirls interlocking with the rest. They prettily join the picture and it is one step closer to being complete.

_why are you here?_

Green’s startled by the question. Based on his conversation with Red so far, he expects the question to mean something existential. Why is he here on this planet? What are his goals, his wishes, his wants, his dreams? What purpose does he want to fulfill? But at Red’s perplexed expression at Green taking so long to answer the question, he returns to his sketchbook and makes an amendment.

_in solaceon_

That’s...much simpler.

“I’m visiting my sister,” Green answers, embarrassed by his mental stumble. “I needed a break from the city, and this seemed like the perfect place.”

Red taps his paintbrush-pen against his sketchbook. He nods and looks up at the sky. Violet melts into black as the sky changes once more.

Green’s telling a bit more than he should, but he’s only going to be here for two months, it makes sense that his tongue is loose. He has some questions of his own to ask Red, but he’s hesitant. That answer to the whole sitting in a wheat field thing had been odd and slightly unsatisfying.

“Why are you here?” Green asks.

Red looks over at Green and his eyes are lost in the blackened sky. Green has to squint to see them. His red cap and white shirt are saving graces in the increasingly low light of the field. Green’s forgotten that about the country; when night falls, it _truly_ falls. He won’t be able to see his own hand in front of his face.

Red writes another puzzle piece in his sketchbook and hands it to Green. He has to lean very close to the book in order to read, but he’s able to make it out.

_i’m staying for the summer_

“Yeah? Me too,” Green says, looking charmed. What a coincidence, the second one, actually. First their names, and now this.

Red accidentally or intentionally knocks their elbows together and slaps his sketchbook closed. He points up at the sky with a frown.

Green’s able to read between the lines. “Getting late?”

Red nods and stands up first. He offers his hand to Green this time. Green takes it and gets up, dusting off his pants. Now that he’s standing above the wheat instead of below it, he feels slightly disoriented. His perspective reapplies itself and the world is right again.

The sound of paper tearing has Green looking once again at Red. He’s shorter than Red, he notices. The fact doesn’t sit right with him, but that’s mainly because he’s shorter than a few people back at college and they always give him shit for it. The height difference between him and Red isn’t as much of a disparity as it is with some of his peers back in Saffron, so Green swallows his annoyance.

Red’s holding the piece of paper he’d torn out from his sketchbook in his hand. He looks at it with a slight frown, but when he tilts his head to the left, his expression doesn’t look as disappointed. He hands the sheet to Green and then waves goodbye. He wades through the sea of wheat and jumps the fence, heading in the opposite direction Green had come from.

Green looks at the piece of paper in his hand. It’s hard to discern in the darkness, but it looks to be a picture of a mouse in a meadow. It’s from the perspective of the mouse, as the grass and trees above it are impeccably large and intimidating. But, more than that, it’s an _incredible_ piece of work that’s all been done with a pen. The shading, the strokes, the definition given to each tree and blade of grass, the flowers that blossom forth before the mouse… It’s amazing, save for the broad stroke of the pen that muddles up the sky. The result of their collision.

“We’re small, huh…” Green mutters. He decides against folding up the picture and holds it in his hands as he follows Red’s path out of the field. He jumps the wooden fence and turns left, heading back to Daisy’s house.

There’s apple pie waiting for him when he returns. It’s the sweetest pie he’s ever tasted.

Daisy works at the veterinary clinic in town on weekdays, so Bebe keeps him company. She complains about how they’re running low on produce, so Green suggests they visit the market. They have a bit of back and forth about when to go and what to get, but soon enough, Green’s putting on his most comfortable sneakers and Bebe grabs her wallet.

It’s not terribly hot since they’re up north. Enough to warm the skin but not so much that it’s sweltering. Their walk to the outdoor market isn’t long. Small white canopies cover and protect the various produce and food being sold. They are set up in perfect straight lines for easy browsing and maneuvering.

Friendly faces offer them water and a sugar cookie to munch on while picking out their groceries. Some of the canopies are selling seedlings and crafts. Wood carvings of various animals are a huge attraction, as are cozy looking quilted blankets.

The market is bustling and cheery as people stop by and chat and ask how Daisy is doing and what’s Bebe been up to. Green introduces himself a few times. They take up that offer of water and sugar cookies and get seconds.

They look around the produce canopies for the best picks. Bebe has a great eye for these things. She picks a basket of peaches that looks delicious and does the same with a sealed container of blueberries. After thirty minutes, Green’s arms are full carrying baskets and bundles of fruits and vegetables. Bebe halfheartedly offers to take some of it off his hands, but Green declines. She and Daisy are insistent on paying for everything for him this summer; he can do some heavy lifting in return.

“Do you see any cherries?” Bebe asks him once they’ve circled the produce section twice.

Green cranes his neck and looks through the crowd of people to spot some dark red orbs. “No…”

“Shoot, those are Daisy’s—”

“Favorite, I know,” Green finishes, clicking his tongue.

Bebe motions for Green to follow her. “It’s not like Gardenia to be a no show.”

They rest on one of the benches near the unloading area. They’ve bought quite a haul. Green wonders where they’re going to store it all. His diet is going to be very fruit heavy in the coming weeks.

A loud truck engine catches the attention of everyone at the market. It pulls into the unloading area and gets stopped by an old man with a merry smile. A woman leans out of the open driver’s side window of the truck to talk, and sitting in the back of the truck is—Red. _Red_ is sitting in the back of the very loud and very bright green truck.

Green gets up and, without thinking, starts walking over to it. He doesn’t even give Bebe the courtesy of telling her where he’s going. He moves between people, muttering pardons to get to the truck. Red doesn’t look up when Green comes to stand beside it, and once Green looks further inside, he understands why. Red’s drawing in his sketchbook again, surrounded by large baskets of cherries. The trunk bed is an ocean of crimson with Red’s hat and jacket adding to it.

It takes Green placing his hands on the side panel and clearing his throat to get Red’s attention. Red lifts his head and stares at Green with a look of elation but also confusion.

Green starts. “Why are you in this truck?”

Red tilts his head. He flips to a blank page of his sketchbook and starts what will become an intricate pattern of questions and answers between them, using a pencil today instead of his paintbrush-pen.

_delivering cherries_

“You work on a cherry orchard?” Another surprise. Red doesn’t seem the type.

Red shakes his head and Green’s glad that his ability to read people hasn’t turned sour.

_helping out Gardenia. she’s a friend_

Green leans away from the truck bed to look again at the woman talking to the old man. So _that’s_ Gardenia and these are her cherries in the truck. “Why are you late?”

_we had to give the turtles a bath_

Red doesn’t offer any further context to his answer, leaving Green to stare at him strangely. _What_ turtles and why did they need a bath right then? Green rests his arms on the side panel of the truck and sighs in exasperation. It’s only been four days. Is the rest of his summer going to be this bizarre?

The truck door opens and shuts and Gardenia walks along the opposite side. She looks first to the trunk bed filled with cherries and a young man named Red, and then she notices the _other_ young man posted up against her truck like it's his own. Green removes himself from it, realizing that his informal posture could be taken as rude.

But Gardenia smiles at him like he’s family. “Hiya! I’m Gardenia. I haven’t seen you around before. What’s your name?”

“Green. I’m visiting Daisy. I’m her brother,” Green answers, moving his hands into his pockets. Everyone’s so friendly here. Nothing like the city. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Sure is!” Gardenia turns to Red. “Thanks for the help, Red. I couldn’t have done it without you. Here’s a sample to take with you.” She hands Red a medium sized plastic bag filled with bright cherries. It’s tied with a little blue bow.

Red takes it and puts in his jacket pocket, nodding at Gardenia in what Green interprets as thanks.

Gardenia smiles. “I can unload the baskets myself, but you can come back and help anytime.” She looks over to Green. “Bring your friend Green, too! The more help we have, the faster it goes.”

“Oh—” Green begins, but Gardenia is already making her way back to her truck.

Red flips his sketchbook closed. He stands and starts to get out. Green moves back a little to give him room. Red jumps out of the truck and lands on his feet, sporting the same t-shirt and jean ensemble as when Green had seen him last.

Gardenia gets in her truck and pulls off, a few people following the dirt trails the truck kicks off.

Green and Red are left alone together, that is, until Green remembers that he left _Bebe_ alone with all their fruit.

“Shit—I’m here with someone,” Green says, taking a step back but then stepping forward again. He’s inclined to ask Red to come with him, but he’s not sure if Red’s got other things to do at the market. Green’s got to get all their produce home, but the thought of spending more of the afternoon with Red doesn’t sound bad, either.

Red raises a brow at him. He gets out his sketchbook again. He shows Green his question once he’s done writing it out, and Green takes the time to see that Red is creating a circle out of their discussion.

_who is it?_

“Bebe,” Green answers, fidgeting. “I came to do some shopping with her—”

Red stops listening. He’s spotted where Bebe is currently sitting with their haul and he starts walking over, sketchbook under his arm. Green follows behind.

Bebe’s sitting on the bench popping blueberries in her mouth. She stops when Red and Green come walking over. Nearly half the blueberries are gone. Green gives her a look but Bebe just shrugs.

“Bebe, this is Red,” Green says, gesturing to Red with a hand. “Red, this is Bebe, my sister’s girlfriend.”

“Red, huh?” Bebe says, holding her hand out for Red to shake. “Nice to meet you. Have I seen you somewhere before?”

Red takes Bebe’s hand and shakes it. When he lets go, he takes a moment to consider her question before making an unsure gesture.

“Mm.” Bebe places a hand to her chin, squinting her eyes as she looks at Red. It’s as if she _has_ seen him somewhere, but Green highly doubts it. Bebe hardly leaves her room or her office in town, absorbed in work as she is. “Ah, well. Anyway, thanks for helping Gardenia with the cherries. We were looking for ‘em!”

The news surprises Red. He looks at Green, who shrugs at the coincidence. From his pocket, Red plucks the bag of cherries he’d been given and offers them to Bebe.

Both Bebe and Green are shocked by this sudden show of generosity.

“Are you sure?” Bebe says, taking them when Red nods. “Thanks! That’s very cool of you.”

“Thanks, Red,” Green agrees.

Bebe adds the sack of cherries to their already impressive produce supply. Baskets and bundles and sacks await them and Green’s back aches at the thought of carrying everything back to Daisy’s place.

“Don’t let us keep you,” Bebe tells Red. “If you’ve got somewhere to be or someone to see…” She makes a big deal of picking up the bushel of apples _she’d insisted_ on getting, grunting and groaning and generally making a much bigger deal of it.

Red steps forward and takes the bushel out of her hands. A nice guy through and through, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just been taken advantage of.

Bebe smiles gratefully despite her deceitful ways. “Red, thank you! That’s so kind of yo—”

“Red, you don’t have to help,” Green interjects, sending a glare Bebe’s way. “We can handle things just fine if you’ve got business here.”

Red doesn’t seem bothered. He shrugs as he so often does and continues to hold the bushel of apples as if they weigh nothing.

Bebe smirks at Green.

Green sighs and grabs the basket of peaches, the box of blueberries, and the bag of carrots. “Thanks for the help, then. We’re not that far out.”

Bebe is left to carry Red’s sketchbook and the sack of cherries, munching and crunching on them as they begin their walk.

Green shifts quickly into asking yes or no questions on the road home. He unveils the truth of Red’s morning spent washing turtles and picking cherries. Gardenia has a turtle pond with a few turtles in it. They’d needed to be washed and Gardenia had been putting it off, but when Red had come over to help with the harvest, he’d volunteered to assist with that as well.

Hence, turtle baths and the baskets of cherries and Red sitting in the truck. Strange to Green, who’d spent most of his life in the city and was used to that lifestyle, but absolutely normal to everyone else. Bebe doesn’t so much as flinch at the mention of turtles and baths and turtle ponds. But Bebe is Bebe, and she is an oddity herself.

They reach Daisy’s porch in no time. Bebe unlocks the front door and the two of them lead Red inside to the kitchen. He sets the bushel of apples on the kitchen table and washes his hands in the sink. He looks around the kitchen curiously, staring at things that aren’t worth staring at, like the salt and pepper shakers, the top of the refrigerator, and the mugs set out to dry on the drying rack.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Daisy will be home soon,” Bebe asks, rubbing an apple on her shirt before biting into it.

Red shakes his head. He takes his sketchbook back from Bebe and eyes Green with what looks like embarrassment. Green’s not sure what that’s about.

“Aw,” Bebe says dejectedly. “Some other time, then. Thanks for your help! I owe you one.”

“Same here,” Green says, and Red smiles at him.

It’s early evening by the time Red sets off down the road, his red jacket blowing in the wind behind him. Green and Bebe watch him go for a minute or two before heading back inside.

“He’s cute.”

_“Shut up.”_

There’s a heavy inclination for gatherings in the country that rivals that of the city. In the two weeks that Green’s been in Solaceon, he’s been invited to cookouts, football watch parties, and pool parties. Some of these come as an extension of him being Daisy’s brother, but a surprising amount of them do not. He’s approached by people at the market or convenience store out of the blue and spoken with favorably. He attends some of these get-togethers but stays focused on his goal of enjoying nature, even if he is sent home with tupperwares of food to fill the refrigerator.

At times, when he’s out and about, he catches glimpses of Red. They’re always too far away from each other or are otherwise occupied. They haven’t spoken in a while and Green struggles to even catch his eye across varying distances. But an upside of being accepted into the community and learning more about it is that people are more than willing to share what information they know about Red, the elusive artist that does as he pleases.

Green learns from various sources that despite Red’s aloof nature, he’s very helpful and takes time to stop by and visit people when he can. People have spotted him in odd places around town; abandoned sheds, sitting on flat stones near the creek, on top of buildings that don’t have rooftop access. He’s known to be mysterious, a ghost that appears when least expected and vanishes without a trace. He’s compared to a stray dog that the entire neighborhood feeds. He belongs to everyone and no one.

When Green brings up the subject of Red’s art, most everyone mentions that they haven’t seen any of his work. Green keeps the fact that he has a nearly completed piece of artwork from Red to himself.

It’s in the middle of his third week that Green, Daisy and Bebe are invited to Hayley’s ranch. She’s throwing a huge party in her barn. It’s to celebrate a successful summer harvest and to give a bit of a midseason reprieve to the farmers and ranchers of the town. A night of live music, beer, laughter, and good times.

The whole town is expected to be there. Green’s going to show his face and his support. He’s heavily enjoyed the fresh food everyone’s been selling, but he also wants to see and actually _talk_ to Red.

The party falls on a Saturday night. The weather is kind with a gentle breeze to help with relaxation. He, Daisy, and Bebe get dressed in semi-casual clothing. Daisy wears a simple light blue blouse with some black leggings, her hair pulled back into a high bun. Bebe wears a black shirt with a peach cardigan over it and dark washed skinny jeans. She’s wearing her hair down for once, and the style change takes both Daisy and Green by surprise.

Wanting to show off, Green puts on his white v-neck shirt and light green casual blazer. His pants are darker than Bebe’s, but more loose fitting with a brown belt. He tugs on some white loafers and fixes his hair up nice.

Bebe laughs when she sees him. “You’re _such_ a city boy.”

The party is nice. There’s crowds of people there, but the spaciousness of Hayley’s barn allows everyone their room. From the rafters hang ornaments and stings of lights. There are bales of hay to sit on in addition to the rampant amount of chairs and couches covered in quilt and fleece blankets. There’s food and drink and coolers with beer and soda inside. The ground is dirt and hay and Green regrets wearing his white shoes here, but it’s nothing he can’t wash out...hopefully.

A group of musicians are playing together in the back of the barn. There’s the distinct sound of a violin (or fiddle, as the other attendees would correct him), a harmonica, and a guitar. Several couches are set up to observe, but directly in front of them there’s an open space where some couples are dancing together.

After assuring Daisy that he’s an adult that has been to many parties and knows how to mingle, Bebe drags her to the dancefloor. They kick up hay and dirt and a chorus of hoots and hollers follows.

Green grabs a drink from one of the coolers and walks around. He greets everyone that he knows, gets introduced to whoever he doesn’t, and eats enough food to sustain him for the rest of his life. However, through his tour of the barn and the fenced off area out of the side doors, a red cap is absent.

Red isn’t here. Green hides his disappointment behind sips of his beer.

He revisits that outside area where the wooden fence pins them in. The livestock are supposed to be here, but Hayley must’ve moved them to a cowshed or something. The space is now full of tables and loveseats where people are seated together talking away from the commotion of the barn and the music. It’s quieter here and darker, too.

Green leans against the fence and finishes off his beer. The music plays distantly as do the conversations of people cuddled up together on the couches. He looks out over the ranch and can’t believe how much land Hayley has at her disposal. There’s what looks to be a dense forest nearby, just off the side of the road. That probably causes complications if one of Hayley’s animals gets out.

There’s a type of plant that pops up near the dirt road. It looks like a weed with how it sprouts up through the forest. It grows high and it’s petals are a vibrant fuchsia color. Green’s never seen it before and he wonders what it’s called. Something disturbs those weeds and Green’s eyes focus and catch on a bright red jacket.

Green tosses his beer can into the trash and jumps over the fence.

“Red!” He calls, because he knows that jacket and _this_ is a place that is unusual. The entire town is at the barn, living it up and partying their heads off, and Red’s in the forest doing who knows what. “Hey, Red!”

The weeds and leaves shift again. Green ventures as close to the forest as he dares, his eyes squinting into the darkness. He doesn’t see anything except for dark brown and green and the fuchsia of the weed by his feet. He’s about to give up when a head pokes out from the forest further down the road.

It’s Red, a foot away from him. He’s looking at Green curiously, as if surprised to see him there. He exits the forest and walks down the dirt road to stand in front of him. He’s got his sketchbook like always, but Green’s unsure of what artistic utensil he’s using tonight.

“It’s been a while,” Green says in greeting. He’s smiling and he hates it, but whatever. He jabs his thumb behind him. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

Red looks over at the barn with the bright lights and merriment. His face twists with distaste.

“Not your scene, huh,” Green muses. It’s not an odd enough place, apparently. “Then what _are_ you doing? Frolicking in the forest?”

For a moment, Red looks at him with eyes narrowed in observation. The eyes of an artist are interesting things, Green finds. He expects to hate having his soul seen and judged, but when Red studies him with sagacious eyes, Green wonders what he finds. What does he see? What does he value? What makes an impression and what doesn’t? What attributes and characteristics stand out enough to invoke inspiration?

Green will never know. Red takes out his sketchbook and a ballpoint pen. He writes something down and shows it to Green.

_want to see something cool?_

“Is it a dead animal?” Green asks dryly, the wonder fading from his chest. Red sure does know how to ruin a moment. “Dead animals aren’t cool, Red. Don’t show me a dead animal.”

Red smiles and it’s the brightest one Green’s seen yet.

_it’s a house_

“A house…” Green says slowly. _“Your_ house?”

Red shakes his head.

“Just a random house?”

Red’s smile gets a little mischievous. Green feels like he’s about to embark on an adventure.

“Okay, sure. Which way is it? Back into town?”

Red takes his hand and leads him down the road and into the forest. They disappear into tall trees and uneven grass. Green’s heart is in his throat the entire time. It’s night and that familiar unsettling feeling seeps into him. It’ll be dark soon and they’re away from the lights of the party. The only hope they have is the moon, which is full tonight. Luck is on their side.

“How far is it?” Green asks uselessly. Red’s not going to stop and answer him now. He won’t answer until they arrive at their destination. They bob and weave between trees. The fuchsia weeds that were sprinkled along the country road walk beside them and begin to lead the way. Red follows them as he carefully tugs Green through dangerous turns and low hanging branches.

Green has to pay attention to where Red steps so that he can follow. He has to look everywhere at once, not wanting to trip and scuff up his shoes and dirty his shirt. But in the few small moments between his intense awareness, he focuses on Red’s hand. It’s slightly larger than his own. Warmer, too.

The flowers brush against his knees and ankles. He’s lost track of where the barn is, the road, the town itself. He is completely in Red’s care, and usually such a thing would never happen. Green is an independent person. He relies on himself most of all. If he gets into a mess, he’ll get himself out, but that’s not possible now.

 _Red_ has gotten them into this mess, and it’s up to _Red_ to get them out.

Green doesn’t like that.

But it doesn’t matter what he likes or dislikes; he’s already agreed and they’re already on their way. The dense forest continues to extend as they keep walking. Green recalls that the forest is present behind many farms and houses. It circles the town and travels upwards over the mountains to the north.

How far are they going?

Red takes a sharp turn that nearly makes Green collide with his back. The piles of leaves, vines and rocks that they’ve been stepping on even out into a narrow dirt path. The fuchsia weeds grow on either side of it. Red slows down and they walk along the path, the pine trees giving them room.

It’s much easier with a path to walk on. Green can actually look around and take stock of where they are. The moonlight filters through the trees, passing over leaves and branches to cast a soft glow. It falls upon both of them in brief patterns as they walk underneath the large evergreen trees. Red’s hat and hair is illuminated from time to time, but then he returns to the darkness. Green doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

If there’s a path, it means that there’s something worth going to in the forest, no doubt this house that Red wants so badly to show him. But Green wonders _who_ would want a house out here in the middle of the forest? So far from town and civilization, so easy to get lost on the way to, and so overpopulated with weeds?

The path ends at a clearing in the trees, and nestled within the circular clearing is a singular house, a log cabin with a shed behind it and a stone chimney. There’s even a small pond to the right of it with a tree stump nearby. It looks like the home of a hermit or something out of a fairytale adventure book.

Surrounding the cabin and the pond and the tree stump are those same fuschia weeds that led them here. They’ve made their home out of the clearing, turning it into a meadow of sorts. Their petals reach toward the firmament, bright and beautiful against the dark of night.

Red turns to look back at him with a smile, and Green straightens. He’s not sure what kind of reaction Red’s looking for.

“Uh,” Green tries anyway. “I really like the...broken shingles on the roof?”

Red tilts his head. Not what he was looking for, but it doesn’t matter. He leads Green closer, into the clearing with the moon and stars shining above them.

They walk up the creaky steps of the cabin, the wooden door hanging off its hinges. This is perplexing to Green and sets off some red alarms. If the door is open, that means any manner of animal or human could be inside.

Red doesn’t seem concerned. He eases past the door and still holds onto Green’s hand as he does so. The journey isn’t over yet. There’s still more to see, and Red is insistent on showing it to Green. And Green, stupid and foolish and stubborn, sees things through to the end.

The inside of the cabin is in shambles. The walls are falling apart, logs having collapsed and distorted what used to be a home to someone. The kitchen is dark with ash lightly dusting the appliances. The furniture is tattered and covered in what looks to be soot. The stone chimney is the only thing semi intact, but it looks like an in progress game of Jenga. Large slabs of stone teeter close to the edge, the only thing keeping the chimney standing. The fact that it hasn’t collapsed yet is a miracle.

Red continues on their tour of an abandoned log cabin in the middle of the forest to bring Green into the hallway. Old paintings hang on the discolored walls. Large landscapes of the countryside with sunsets that dazzle. Some of the paintings are charred in various places, others are distorted, the picture being washed out and ruined by rains and snow. Green wonders if these were paintings Red had done or if there’s any correlation between this house and Red. It’s something that he’ll have to ask.

They enter one of the bedrooms. Inside is a twin-sized bed and a closed window. There’s an armoire near the bed and a full-length mirror beside it that’s cracked. A ratty green rug rests on the middle of the floor. It’s a simple bedroom, perhaps a guest room. Green imagines what it once looked like when it was new and rich and perfect.

“Why are we here?” Green finally asks. The sounds of hooting owls and chirping crickets are as loud as his heartbeat. The sky is visible through the holes in the roof. The moon has its eyes on them, and the stars are intrigued by what they’re doing.

Red releases Green’s hand and reaches for his sketchbook. He pulls out an orange colored pencil and begins writing. In the three minutes it takes for him to finish, Green is shifting his feet, trying not to look at himself in the mirror and willing the goosebumps on his arms and neck to go away.

Red turns the sketchbook to show Green what he’d written, and thanks to the light color of the colored pencil and the moon’s grace, Green can read it.

_a family of four used to live in this cabin, but there was a forest fire one day. that's why those purple weeds are everywhere, they're called fireweed and they grow over burned areas. they say on nights with a full moon, the father can be seen chopping firewood—_

Green stops reading. He turns on his heel and walks quickly through the _haunted_ cabin. He squeezes past the wooden front door, steps down the _creepily creaky_ front steps, and enters the clearing of fireweed. He can hear Red rushing to catch up to him, but Green’s mind is only focused on one thing: get out of the forest and away from haunted cabins and ghost stories.

He doesn’t know how exactly to return to the farm, but he’ll figure it out. He can follow the path to a point, then if he follows the trail of the fireweed, maybe he’ll reach the road. It’s the best plan he’s got, so he sets forth.

But Red grabs his hand before Green’s feet can return to the dirt path. Green turns around to glare at him.

“You didn’t mention that the house was _haunted_ , Red! What the hell!” Green snaps.

Red stares at him for a moment while the crickets sing and the owls hoot and Green’s heart thunders. Then, he smirks with amusement.

_Amusement!_

“This isn’t _funny!”_ Green hisses, grabbing Red’s vest and pulling him close. Mostly out of anger, somewhat out of comfort. “You could’ve given me some warning or clued me into this being some haunted adventure!”

Red’s smiling and Green _hates him._ He hates the way Red’s lips twitch upward and his brows draw inward, and his head tilts just slightly in an expression of laughter. He hates that, despite their frightening situation, Green is hooked on it. The moon is kind and lovely tonight and allows Green to see that expression for all it’s worth.

Red’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter, his eyes closing as his lips pull back to show teeth. Green’s heart nearly bursts. He’d been afraid a minute ago, so terrified of ghosts and their tales to feel anything else, but now he’s distracted, _flummoxed_ , as fear transforms into infatuation.

Green hates ghosts. _Hates. Them._ But Red’s smile and laughter? He can see himself quickly growing to love those.

“Listen,” Green begins firmly. He needs to get his emotions under control and impart the seriousness of the situation onto Red, who is all quiet smiles and pretty eyes. “I hate ghosts. Have since forever. So—Stop _laughing!_ I’m serious, Red.”

Red bites the inside of his cheek and gives Green his best attempt at a serious face.

“So, no more ghosts! Understand?” Green tells him, tugging Red closer. Why does that come so easily? The want to draw Red nearer? It doesn’t make sense. The only explanation he can find is that it’s a result of the summer air and novelty of being somewhere new with someone so unique.

But Green has been in new places with other unique people, and he hasn’t felt this way before. So maybe, possibly, it’s just Red and his infectious way of thinking and doing things that piques the curiosity in wondering minds.

Nevertheless, Red nods, his nose scrunched up and his lips downturned into a grim frown. It’s a ridiculous face. It makes Green roll his eyes because he can tell in the way that Red’s mouth twitches that he still finds the entire thing funny.

With a sigh that carries more with it than Red will ever know, Green releases Red’s jacket and offers his hand. “Lead me back,” he says, and it’s not a question. He’s quite sick of the forest and the bleak darkness that tires his soul. Light, more than what the moon is providing, would be excellent.

Red’s smile turns empathetic…or sympathetic as he takes Green’s hand and begins to lead him down the dirt path. This time instead of one walking in front of the other, they walk through the fireweed side by side.

Two days later, Bebe comes into the guest room and asks for Green’s help. One of the people in town is having trouble with their computer and Bebe, the town expert on everything computer related, has offered to go over and give it a looksee. Green’s job is to hand Bebe tools and computer parts while she’s working on it.

A dumb job, one that Bebe could do herself, but she just grins when he points this out to her. “And miss out on having an assistant? Come on, it won’t take that long. We’ll take Ol’ Jemma.”

Green frowns. “Old who?”

Ol' Jemma turns out to be a truck hidden beside Daisy's house among the three or four trees. It’s hidden under a tarp and has seen better days. It’s a sickly white color with splotches of paint missing on the hood and doors. There are dents, dings, and everything that could make a vehicle look like shit on it. A sad, horrid sight.

Green’s frown deepens. “I’m not riding in that.”

“Worried about your reputation?” Bebe says, opening the driver’s side door and putting the key into the ignition. It takes a few tries (five) for Ol' Jemma to give a damn and start, and when it does, it’s a terrible sound. A concerning rattling starts from the hood and the truck shakes and sputters.

“Not my reputation,” Green answers, crossing his arms when Bebe gets out, “my _safety.”_

“There’s seatbelts,” reassures Bebe as she heads back inside to grab her things.

“That’s _not_ what I meant!”

They load up Ol' Jemma with Bebe’s supplies. There’s bags of delicate computer hardware and the tools used to put them together. Bebe’s wearing a comfortable oversized hoodie, and inside the pocket are two of the apples she’d bought from the market. Green notices this, rolls his eyes, and resolves to look out the window on their turbulent ride through town.

He’d been about to ask why they didn’t take Ol' Jemma to the market the other day, but he’s glad they didn’t. The truck is on its last legs. At every stop sign and intersection, it lurches and jerks and nearly makes Green lose his lunch.

“You should put this old thing out of its misery,” he remarks.

Bebe laughs, not minding the chaotic nature of her old truck. “Nah, she’s still got life left to give.”

The person they’re going to assist is a woman named Fantina. She lives in a nice, two-story traditional house on the outskirts of town. There’s flowers all over her property which is barricaded by a stone retaining wall. Vines and the roots of flowers drape down the length of it to touch the concrete of the road. Small bushes and trees can be seen just behind the house, all perfectly trimmed and beautiful.

Green’s impressed by the look of the place. He carries the larger bags of Bebe’s supplies on his shoulder and waits behind her as she knocks on the door. They’re let inside and the introductions begin. Green is ever the gentleman, even with the sharp corner of some computer part jabbing him in the side.

Fantina hadn’t been at the barn party because she’d been out of town. When Green enters her abode and looks about, it’s easy to figure out why. There are shelves upon shelves lined with trophies and ribbons. Every wall has some award on it. The living room is covered with them and they continue down the hallway and up the stairs.

“I look back on the times I spent competing fondly. Nowadays, my presence is frequently requested as a judge,” Fantina says while brewing them up some tea.

Green looks at her in interest. “What did you compete in?”

“My! Can’t you tell?” Fantina says, setting down the mugs of tea to twirl around in a dazzling display of glitter and finesse. She ends her spontaneous spin with a clap of her hands and a tapping of her heels. “Ballroom dance!”

Once given her tea, Bebe sets to work trying to figure out what’s wrong with Fantina’s computer. She calls Green for a few tools that she has to describe to him, but once she’s narrowed it down, he’s free to roam about the house and look at all of Fantina’s many awards.

Bebe and Fantina catch up as Green walks about and sips his tea, but his ear tunes to their conversation when he overhears an intriguing story.

“—a visitor before my trip. It was a pleasant evening, but he left quite suddenly. It was late too, and he declined my offer of a coat. He’s always wearing that red jacket of his, but the nights around here can get quite cold. I hope he’s alright.”

Bebe notices Green’s sudden interest and smirks. “This visitor… He wouldn’t happen to be _Red_ would he?”

Green nearly coughs up his tea but plays it off as him clearing his throat.

“Oui!” Fantina says, surprised. “A strange young man, but a kind one. He visits me and asks to hear some of the ghost stories I remember from my youth. It’s funny, we’ve worked out a deal surrounding them. In order for Red to hear one of my stories, he has to trade me a piece of his artwork. He’s a talented artist, you know.”

Green whips his head around. There’s someone else that’s seen Red’s art? A stab of disappointment pierces him suddenly, but there’s still exclusivity in being one of the only people to have a piece of his work.

“Really?” Bebe asks. “May we see some of his art?”

Fantina shakes her head, looking apologetic. “Non pardon, I’m afraid that’s another part of the deal. I can’t show anyone the pieces he gives me. He’s very secretive about his art. A shame, non? It’s very beautiful!”

Secretive. Green wonders why.

It takes an hour or so to fix up the computer. Bebe eats both of the apples she’d bought with her during that time, and Fantina gives them two jars of plum jam in thanks. Bebe seems very happy with the arrangement.

They load up Ol' Jemma and head home. On the way, they come across a familiar silhouette walking alongside the shoulder of the road with a sketchbook under his arm and a blue marker tucked behind his ear. He’s wearing his red jacket, of course, but his jeans are darker and his shirt is black instead of the usual white.

Bebe doesn’t ask or even turn to Green before slowing down to drive beside him. The nice thing about being in the country is that the cars on the road are sparse and traffic is light. There’s no honking, urgency, or annoyance.

“Hey, Red!” Bebe greets, rolling down the window. That’s a whole affair, as Ol' Jemma screeches as Bebe does so, surprising Red and Green both. “What’s up? Need a lift?”

Red stops walking and looks in the truck. He waves at Bebe, but to Green, who is sitting nervously in the passenger seat, Red gives him a kind smile.

At the question of needing a lift, Red nods, and writes in his sketchbook his destination. He’s heading over to Gardenia’s cherry orchard. It’s a busy time of year, and she needs all the help she can get.

“Hop in the back,” Bebe says to Red, then turns to Green with a smirk. “Why don’t you join him? It’s better for my precious cargo to be in the front seat anyway. Hardware is expensive, y’know.”

Green’s blushing as he opens the door and places Bebe’s supplies in the passenger seat. He hops into the back of Ol' Jemma alongside Red and tries to get his heart to calm the fuck down. Ol' Jemma is a small, pathetic truck, so the room they have isn’t much, but they’re not pushed together uncomfortably.

“Hey,” he greets, when Bebe merges into the lane and sets off for Gardenia’s.

Red smiles at him. He crosses his legs and sits casually, nowhere near as bothered or nervous as Green, and that nonchalance helps to ease Green’s fluttering heartbeat.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” he warns, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Red shrugs, and doesn’t move away when a pothole causes their shoulders to touch. The noise of the truck and the sounds of cars rushing by prevents them from talking in their usual manner; Green would have to yell over the sound of Ol' Jemma’s failing engine, but they find a solution, flawed as it is.

Between holes in concrete roads, they pass Red’s sketchbook back and forth. Red begins with spiraling questions that loop around the sheet of paper in distinguished ways, and Green is given the dual tip marker and sketchbook and the pressure of answering. He’s not sure where to write his words. He doesn’t want to ruin Red’s work.

Red waits for him as they continue along the old country road, venturing further and farther out into the open lands.

Green does his best to replicate Red’s pattern. His answer is simple; two words of medium length. His major in college. When he hands the sketchbook back, Red reads over the words, traces Green’s answer with his fingertips, and then writes another question. The sketchbook returns to Green’s hands and he sees that Red has spun their words together, connected them in a way that Green hadn’t seen previously.

They go back and forth like that. Red asks questions to glean information about Green and his life. How old is he? What are his interests? What is his favorite color? What college is he attending? What year is he?

The question that Green anticipates never comes. _What are you going to do after graduation?_ He waits for Red to ask it. Each time he’s handed the sketchbook, he’s expecting it, but Red never asks, either because he doesn’t care or perhaps because it doesn’t matter. Green’s not sure which it is, but he’s refreshed at not having to sit up straight and give the same spiel about his plans and career goals.

It’s a rough ride thanks to Ol' Jemma, but Red does what he can to soothe Green’s worries. He smiles each time Green returns the sketchbook, and the art they craft together is a maze of words, saturated with the memories of the wind blowing through their hair and the scenery that passes by.

Green doesn’t get the chance to ask Red about himself. He thinks to. He _wants_ to, but Red drives the conversation with no shortage of questions himself. But… Green doesn’t want Red to be a ghost in his life. Green wants to know him, to form an unfleeting connection that binds them beyond that of the few people Red associates with. Friendship is what Green desires, and something more, but he won’t be greedy. He’d like to see Red’s world, if he’s allowed.

They arrive at Gardenia’s orchard sooner than Green would’ve liked. They hop out of the truck, Bebe wishes them good luck with a smile and wink, and the two turn to see the rows and rows of cherry trees waiting for them.

Gardenia is more than happy for the extra help. She’s got a few farmhands who have been harvesting cherries as soon as possible—sorting through them to pick out bad ones, loading up her truck and others to take baskets to the market—but there are more trees near the front of the orchard that have been neglected.

“If you could fill a few buckets, I’d be grateful,” Gardenia tells them. “I’ll treat ya to dinner for your help!”

Red nods for the both of them. They’re given large buckets to carry and pointed in a direction. Red turns and sets off, leaving Green to give their thanks and a wave goodbye to Gardenia.

In precise rows, the cherry trees await them. The fruit hangs plentifully off of the branches. Their bright colors shine in the afternoon sun, and Red’s own striking crimson joins in as he walks ahead of Green. The air is crisp, the world is vast, and the cherries are ready to be picked.

Red turns and walks down the path. He looks back and forth between the cherry trees before stopping, dropping his bucket, and pulling gently at a branch. He looks up at Green and waves him over.

Green grows nervous. He joins Red and sets his bucket down, then wipes his hands on the back of his jeans, anxious. “I’ve never, ah, never picked…well, _anything_ , so…”

Red doesn’t look surprised and Green wonders if it’s just _that obvious_ that he’s out of his element in this town. Red shows him by example how best to pick the cherries from the tree. He grabs the cherry by the stem at the point closest to the branch and pulls upward, keeping the stem and cherry intact. Then, Red brings the cherry to his mouth and eats it, tossing the stem over his shoulder. He brings a finger to his lips and smiles.

Green is _stricken_ with a burst of affection. He plays it off well, knowing just how to respond to this part of the game. He aims a shining smile straight at Red, one that has seen resounding success. He hides his foolhardy emotions behind his playboy façade. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he says with a wink.

And how _satisfying_ is it to see Red get flustered? To see him pause in his cherry picking with slightly widened eyes? A diminutive reaction, but a reaction nonetheless. Green celebrates his victory within the confines of his own private mind.

Red’s faster at picking cherries with all the experience he has, so his part of the tree is clear in no time, while Green’s is only somewhat bare. This, unfortunately, triggers Green’s competitive nature. The first to pick five trees clean wins. Their buckets are just about big enough for that amount of cherries, and now that Green’s gotten the hang of it, he’s sure to win!

Doubly unfortunately, Green discovers that Red _also_ loves a little competition. He agrees to the race and immediately sets out further down the row to begin his cherry picking in earnest.

Green clears his side of the tree of cherries before following behind, picking a tree on the opposite side as Red. With a single glance, they begin together, frantically picking cherries off of trees while taking care to not remove the stems.

And here Green thought the cherry picking would be a little more romantic. A bit of back and forth as Green asks yes or no questions and Red answers. He’d tell a joke or two and Red would smile and show Green more of that cute, quiet laughter. He would be charismatic as he asked Red questions about himself and displayed his cleverness and many witticisms.

It would’ve been perfect, almost date-like on this fine afternoon surrounded by wondrous nature and delicious cherries.

Instead, Green shoves at Red as they make their way down to the final set of trees in their competition. Their buckets are both almost full, and he’s giving Red a run for his money. Red had been in the lead for the _longest_ time, but Green had been tactfully brilliant, biding his time and banking on Red growing tired from all that stretching and hauling of his bucket. He’d swooped up from under him to make a leap for the goal.

So _what_ if he engaged in some foul play too? Red pushed him back and tried to trip him. They’re even.

It’s down to the last tree, the last branch, the last cherry, and—! Red wins by a single group of cherries that he manages to pull off all at once and place into the bucket. He turns around to face Green, arms crossed, sweating profusely, gorgeous, _beautiful_ , and Green can’t find it in him to be mad.

Wait, yes he can.

“How do I know you didn’t cheat?” He accuses Red, breathing heavily himself because he’s not used to this amount of work. But he _can_ get used to it, especially if Red’s involved. “You could’ve eaten half of the cherries while I wasn’t looking.”

Red looks a cross between angry and amused, which makes for an amazing expression. He points to his bucket and then to Green’s.

“Compare?” Green supposes that makes sense. If the amount of cherries in the bucket are about the same, then they can surmise that no eating was involved. “Fine.”

Green places his bucket next to Red’s.

The amount looks _exactly_ the same. They even feel like they weigh about the same when Green picks both buckets up.

“Whatever. You just got lucky,” Green mutters. He corrects his shirt, adjusts his hair, and wipes the sweat from his brow. He fiddles and fixes and avoids Red’s stare. “I _told_ you this was the first time I’ve picked any kind of fruit at all.”

Green doesn’t mention how the competition was _his_ idea to begin with, because it’s not important. He’s learned something about Red; that he’s not the type to let another person win, even if it’s someone he’s infatuated with. Green’s the exact same way, competitive to the end.

Green turns his head and begins to ask if there are more buckets somewhere, but as soon as he does, he finds that Red’s closed the distance between them and that he is standing _very_ close. So close that, their faces are a centimeter apart. So close that, Green can see the long width of Red’s eyelashes and each strand of hair that makes up his short bangs. So close that... Red’s lips press against Green’s cheek.

It’s when Red closes his eyes that Green realizes that this is _intentional_. Red _meant_ to kiss him on the cheek, sweetly, cutely, in the middle of Green’s bitching. It’s all Green can do to not pass out from heatstroke.

“Wh…” Green touches his cheek as Red moves away. “Wh—Red?”

Red doesn’t answer. He immediately tilts his hat down to hide his eyes and turns back to their buckets. He picks them both up by the handle, one in each hand, and starts walking back toward the house at the front of the orchard. He doesn’t so much as glance at Green as he walks past.

Green is having a bit of a crisis. _He’s_ usually the one to make the first move, and so this is new territory. He’s elated, because his intuition regarding Red’s interest wasn’t wrong. Now, it’s up to him to reject or reciprocate. Red has given him that option, and Green’s already certain of his answer. He’s _been_ certain.

So, he watches Red as he walks with two buckets full of cherries in his hands, and, _really?_ Does he need to show off like that? No, he doesn’t, but Green watches with rapt attention anyway, following behind Red and watching his arms flex and the way his shirt sticks to his back with sweat.

They pass the buckets off to a farmhand who has just returned from their truck. Triply unfortunately, they’re sent to pick cherries a row apart. They can see each other through the branches of the trees, cherries dotting their vision with deep maroon, but that’s all they can do. Sure, Green supposes he could shout his questions, but that would make their conversation the business of everyone else in the orchard.

However, Green is known for his ingenuity. He continues with his cherry picking, angling his body so Red stays within sight. Whenever Red turns to look shyly over his shoulder, Green meets his eye and winks.

This unsubtle flirtation is met with hunched shoulders, pink cheeks, and avoidance. Soon, Red accepts that Green isn’t going to stop winking and smiling at him and offers small smiles in return.

And if Green takes breaks between trees to cut across the row and come up behind Red, furtively brushing their shoulders together and asking a quick question before returning to his bucket, that’s no one’s business but his.

And if Red, with his more experienced cherry-picking hands, steps lightly through the row and helps Green in his duty, gently brushing their fingers together in the process, that’s simply him lending a helping hand.

And if Green finds the time while they’re walking back to Gardenia’s house to lean over and place a kiss upon Red’s cheek, well…

That’s between the two of them.

Gardenia’s home is a mix between modern and traditional Sinnohan style. There are the traditional shoji screens, but the flooring is hardwood instead of tatami. The living area is smaller than he’d expected, but perhaps that has to do with the overabundance of plants. There are plants hanging from the ceiling, hiding in the corners, on top of the low table in the middle of the room. They’re everywhere. It’s like stepping into a forest.

Red goes around opening a few of the shoji screens to let in some of the evening light. At least, that’s what Green assumes he’s doing, until he comes to stand beside him and sees the courtyard area in Gardenia’s backyard.

The turtle pond is there. Red smiles as Green’s mouth falls open.

As dinner is being made, Green watches the turtles move about in their pond. Apparently, they’ve been freshly bathed, but Green can't really tell. Their shells are so dark that he can’t make out the patterns on top. One ambles close to one of the rocks and tries to escape the enclosure, but Red picks him up and places him in the water. The turtle swims around confusedly before accepting its circumstances.

But more interesting to Green than the turtles is the way that Red looks at them. They move, they swim, they crawl, they sit still, and Red’s eyes kindly study them. A warm observation that tracks every single one of the turtle's movements. His face is gentle and thoughtful, and Green wishes that he knew what was going through Red’s mind.

Gardenia brings their promised dinner to them when it’s finished. Omurice is the dish for tonight, and Green can’t say he’s surprised. It’s a quick and easy dish to whip up, but it looks nothing short of delicious. The top of the omelette is decorated with swirls of ketchup and leaves of spinach are served on the side.

She waves off Green’s concerns about a possible spill on her hardwood floor and mentions how eating with a view of the pond and the sunset is a great way to end a hard day’s work. She allows them their privacy, apologizing for the lackluster dinner but saying dessert will make up for it.

Red immediately digs into his dinner, his legs outstretched in front of him. Green joins shortly after, cutting his omelette into pieces with the side of his fork. Above them, the sun begins to rest. Around them, the sound of the running water and turtles splashing is their ambience. Between them, there is little space save for the two glasses of lemonade.

It’s serene in a way that the city will never be.

Red finishes his dinner first, and from the inside of his jacket, he takes out his sketchbook. Within the ring bindings is the marker he’d been using earlier. He opens his sketchbook, leisurely browses the pages, and Green thinks that perhaps he’ll ask a question or continue where they left off on the truck.

But Red settles on a page and crosses his legs. He twirls the marker in his hand and sets to work.

And it occurs to Green, as a breeze sails by, that this is the first time that Red’s drawn _in front_ of him. He watches silently as Red looks between the page and the turtle pond, feeling as if he’s been granted passage into a world meant for a select few. It’s difficult to not talk considering what had happened earlier in the orchard, but this, to Green, feels like a moment of trust and reciprocation.

So, Green sips his lemonade and watches the sun fall and the stars gleam. He closes his eyes and nearly falls asleep to the sound of trickling water and strokes of a marker on paper. His inhales are filled with the sweetness of cherries, and his exhales aren’t nearly as debilitating as in the city.

Gardenia returns with dessert, her apron covered in substances of different colors. She’s carrying two small glasses filled with diced cherries and peaches poached in a fine wine. A generous scoop of vanilla ice cream sits on top.

After compliments, praise and generally friendly banter, Gardenia leaves them again. Red’s sketchbook is resting on the floor on the opposite side of Green, and he feels a question sitting on his tongue that’s eager to jump off. He spins his spoon around in the small glass, mixing cherries, peaches and ice cream all together as he weighs the pros and cons, thinks of a kiss pressed lightly to his cheek.

Green decides to take a chance.

“Can I see what you’re workin’ on?”

Red has his spoon in his mouth when he turns to look at Green. There’s a tense moment—perhaps just on Green’s end—where he expects the response to be a clear dismissal. He wonders if Red can see, either by Green’s tone or his expression, that he’s interested in just _seeing_ , in being allowed another peek into Red’s mind, one that isn’t deemed unworthy by its creator.

The unease in his chest disperses when Red reaches for his sketchbook and hands it to Green without hesitation.

Green takes it gingerly in his hands and looks to Red again for further permission. But Red isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s returned to his dessert and is wolfing down the last bit of ice cream left in his glass.

That leaves Green to look down at the page and see what Red created in just a few moments. His heart does three quick embarrassing jumps in his chest, but he quiets the delight he feels.

What he sees when he gazes down and his hands touch carefully at the durable yet soft paper is a forest, not unlike the one Red had drug him through two days ago. But instead of it being shrouded in night and bursting with greenery and towering trees, it’s a soft image, a peaceful babbling brook with a stunning amount of detail.

Green takes in the tall pine trees, the stream that winds between them, and the stones that line the water in different shapes and sizes. Red uses the larger tip of the marker to apply shading, while the thinner tip is used to line. It’s all done in one color, and yet the picture has depth and isn’t straining to the eye. It’s unfinished, or so Green assumes, but it looks fine just the way it is.

Green bites his lip, trying to think of a compliment that suits the mood and newness of their relationship. He doesn’t want to come on too strong. He hands the sketchbook back to Red and offers a half-smile. “I like it.”

Ugh. That was terrible.

Red takes back his sketchbook, but instead of looking down at it, his eyes are trained on Green. He doesn’t look offended, which is relieving, but he _does_ look perplexed. Red almost demands that they keep eye contact as he looks ruthlessly for something within Green’s soul.

It makes Green feel the same as he did at the barn party, but there’s more to it this time. They’ve flirted, they’ve kissed. They’re offering and giving trust. They’re offering and giving affection. Little by little, they’re getting to know each other and letting themselves _be_ known.

So it’s no surprise that when Red finally looks away, it’s to turn to his sketchbook, flip the page, and write out a question. But what _is_ surprising is the nature of that question and how off guard it takes Green.

_you’ve lost the love in your eyes. is that why you came here?_

Green isn’t sure what to say to that. He reads the words over and over, but they don’t make sense in his mind. There’s a disconnect that he can’t solve no matter how he approaches the question. He hands the sketchbook back to Red with quizzical eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Red’s smile is devoid of condescension but full of patience. He spins the marker in his hands and writes with the small tip. His letters are equally spaced, the curves of the characters looping and twirling effortlessly together.

_everything is meant to be gazed at with love. when I look at you, I see love. what do you see when you look at me?_

The dark blue words stare at Green on the pale paper, making his vision swim and his stomach churn restlessly. His mind doesn’t offer any help besides the thought, _is this a confession?_ He stares at the word _love_ for what feels like eons. He traces it in Red’s intricate script with an index finger.

Everything is meant to be gazed at with love… Green smiles and a silly laugh falls from his throat. What an idealistic thought, one that Green has never heard before. _Everything?_ Surely not. But Red’s words are written with such confidence that how can Green doubt? And when that thought comes, Green wonders— _has_ he lost that look in his eyes? Is that why his soul felt so weary back in the city? Is that why simply being in a place he’s never been to, full of kind people and clear skies and green pastures, reignited something inside him that’d sat neglected?

The questions keep coming as Green reads, rereads, and memorizes the words on the page. Red gazes at him with love? What kind? Does it matter? Green’s heart is ensnared by the confirmation. It’s such a mushy thing to say, but Red means it. These are his honest feelings written in blue marker, to be held forever in this sketchbook of his.

What does Green see when he looks at Red?

The answer is simple.

_“Freedom.”_

Red reaches over and squeezes Green’s hand.

Gardenia offers to drive them both home and, being stuffed full with dinner and dessert, Red and Green both take her up on her offer. Daisy’s house is closest, apparently, so they head back into town. It’s refreshing after a day of picking cherries to ride in the back of a pickup truck, the air rushing through his hair and his right hand being held in Red’s grip. It’s too dark to write and too loud to talk, so they resign themselves to silence and the stars.

The hour grows late and the temperature drops as a result. Green shivers when a chilly breeze introduces itself and Red, not even a full second later, lets go of Green’s hand to take off his jacket and place it around Green’s shoulders before any words of reassurance can be said.

Green handles it the best way he can, which is blushing stupidly and holding onto the hem of the jacket. It smells like cherries and sawdust, a scent that is entirely Red’s. Green reaches again for Red’s hand and smiles in thanks.

The ride is peaceful and wonderful and everything Green needs after today. He takes another chance, just one more, and leans his head on Red’s shoulder.

Red immediately leans his head against Green’s, as if he were waiting for Green to do that.

But time is a cruel construct and moves quicker during moments of peace and serenity. They arrive at Daisy’s house so quickly, and their ride together is over. Green returns Red’s jacket and squeezes his hand.

“I’ll see you later,” Green says once he’s out of the truck bed.

Red’s leaning his arms on the side panel, his chin resting upon them. He’s looking at Green with _love_ in his eyes, as he’d revealed earlier, and now that Green knows this crucial fact, he’s twitterpated, caught up in the feelings of summer love and the residual warmth of Red’s hand.

Red nods and gives him a sleepy wave that has Green biting his lip so _hard_. Red has no right being that cute. It’s too much for Green’s heart. He turns before it gets too severe, fiddling with the keys in his pocket.

For some reason, the drawing Red showed him comes back to him, the peacefulness of it, the simplicity. It’s a place that can easily be found somewhere in Solaceon Town. Green wonders if that’s all that Red draws; the bits and pieces of nature that seem lackluster to some people but are so necessary for every human heart. Green doesn’t have the picture to keep, but it’s immortalized on his soul, that quiet wish, that piece of freedom.

Green wants to understand the first person that he’s had trouble understanding. Being in the city, surrounded by all kinds of people from all walks of life, Green’s met and seen them all. The fakers who posture their way to get what they want, the schemers and liars who manipulate and treat others like pawns, the jaded nihilistic, the naïve optimistic, and the people who rest somewhere in between trying to figure themselves out.

Red doesn’t fit into any of those categories. He’s mysterious and guarded, sure, but he’s unconcerned about appearances and sees with eyes that value long forgotten things. He is unapologetically himself and doesn’t seek to change that. He has nothing to prove and is indifferent to people’s opinion of him.

There’s a realness in Red that can’t be faked, a strength of character that Green wants to hold on to. There's courage rooted into Red’s sense of self.

Green hesitates on the walkway. He can’t deny that attraction, that yearning to see more, to _know_ more. He turns on his heel and walks back to Gardenia’s truck. As he approaches, he’s happy to see that Red’s already moved closer to see what’s brought him back. Red’s heavy brows are furrowed with worry, his lips pulled into a confused frown.

And Green’s _heart_ does things that he can’t speak of. He leans forward and kisses Red on the cheek, pulling back to see the wide eyes and cute blush.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, and with a wave of his own, heads back up the walkway. He reaches into his pocket and unlocks the front door with the spare key Daisy gave him, and when he turns back around, Gardenia’s driving away, a very large smile on her face.

Green leans against the doorframe and watches the taillights of the truck as they turn, and the sound of the engine fades away. He feels like...he’s not the only one seeking an escape. With every picture Red draws, with every place he wanders, with every stroke of his pen or pencil, Red is capturing the tranquility of nature.

This place, Solaceon Town… it’s just the closest they can get to what they want. That sense of adventure, of tomorrow and the next day being unplanned unknowns that keep them on their toes. No day is the same. There’s no routine. The world is vast and wide, and they want to see all of it.

But what is it that Red is running from?

So.

Green has a boyfriend now.

Though not in the way onlookers would _assume_. They don’t plan dates. They don’t spend every waking moment together, absorbed in each other's features and words. They don’t exchange numbers and stay up texting or calling.

They’re dating, that’s true, but their encounters are just as sudden as before. If their schedules allow, if they see each other, if their paths cross, they join hands and decide on the spot that then and there is the perfect moment to spend time together.

For example, on one of these impromptu meetings, Green accompanies his sister to Hayley’s farm to perform a check up on a newborn calf. Just as with Bebe, he lugs her bag full of medical supplies and stands beside Daisy as she’s appraised of the situation. Hayley is charming and friendly, greeting Green and offering drinks and snacks that they decline. Afterwards, she leads them to the barn where the calf is waiting.

Holding that calf in his lap is none other than Red, and when he and Green’s eyes lock, there’s an influx of fixation between them. It isn’t impossible to notice, but it needs to be accepted, which both Daisy and Hayley do as they enter the barn. From this point forward, they know that Green and Red’s attention will only be on each other.

Daisy coaxes the calf from Red’s arms and Green sets her bag down beside her. Hayley ends up performing Green’s job as he and Red amble about the barn, shifting on their feet, testing how much distance is acceptable for standing close to one another, settling for subtle affection, and trading smiles.

During this time, Green informs Red that he’s never actually touched a cow before, and Red, wide-eyed and mischievous, invites him to touch one of the most ornery cows in the barn. Sarabella is her name, and she rebuffs Green’s attempt at friendship with a loud grunt and charge at the gate that has Green falling on his ass.

Red finds this incredibly funny.

Green doesn’t and pushes Red into a pile of manure.

Their run-ins with each other are spur of the moment things, seeing each other across the way and dropping what they’re doing to go off together, to explore some place or try something new. It’s suited to them and the space they share together, to Solaceon Town and the freedom it brings.

Being continuously seen together begins to stir up some gossip which travels fast in this town. Green had been preparing to tell his sister about his and Red’s relationship, but she beats him to it, motioning for him to sit down at the table with her and Bebe one night before bed.

With a mug of hot tea in her hands, Daisy looks at him as if he’s done something scandalous. Bebe is no different, but her expression is more insufferable.

“A summer love, hm? I suppose that _is_ the best way to cut back and relax,” Daisy remarks, sipping her tea.

Green hunches his shoulders, frowning deeply at the kitchen table, letting the wood withstand his scorn and embarrassment. “It’s not like I was planning on meeting someone here.”

“Oh, no,” Daisy says quickly. “But I can’t help but wonder why you waited so long to tell me? Your dear sister? Your family?”

Green rolls his eyes. “I don’t see how it’s—”

“After we opened our _home_ to you,” Bebe fake sobs, eating slices of apple with a shit-eating grin. “How could you be so careless, Green?”

“Bebe, _you_ kept pushing us together!”

“So I should’ve been the first to know! Why does the whole town know it’s official before I do?”

“Now, Bebe,” Daisy says, placing a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “It’s too late for Green to tell us he’s dating someone first, but it’s _not_ too late for Green to invite him to dinner.”

And _that’s_ their game, as they both look at him on cue with smug smirks. A proper introduction and dinner is what they ask of him and, recalling how he and Bebe both still owe Red thanks for his help with carrying their produce a month or so ago, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

The problem comes from the realization that he doesn’t have Red’s number or a way to contact him. While their meetups have been wonderful, spontaneous occasions, it makes communication for other matters a pain. He can probably run into Red again around town, but who knows how long that will take? Green only has so much longer in Solaceon Town for this dinner to happen.

The only other option he can think of is to visit someone who most likely knows where Red lives. That someone being a prestigious and vastly talented former ballroom dancer.

“Green Oak!” Fantina greets him, her over-the-top voice making his ears ring. “A pleasure to see you, darling. Please, come in! I’ll make some tea.”

Again, he’s welcomed into Fantina’s home with the awards, ribbons, trophies and plaques all about, and again, he’s given tea to drink and delightful conversation. He learns that Fantina has traveled everywhere, but she was born in Snowbelle City in Kalos. Green asks her a few things about the region, curiosity getting the better of him, before he steers the conversation back to his unscheduled visit.

“Sorry this is so out of the blue,” Green says, hands cupped around his mug of tea. “But you wouldn’t happen to know where Red lives, would you?”

“Ooh la la! And why are you looking for our quiet artist?” Fantina asks with her chin in her hand. She makes absolutely no attempt to hide her enthusiasm.

Green gives her his answer, and she gives him his, providing verbal directions as well as Red’s address in case he _forgets_ those verbal directions. An hour later sees him standing on the side of the main road that runs through town. There’s a side street that extends into a forested area, but the paved street continues down a sloping hill and leads to a sparse looking neighborhood.

He’s lucky it’s the early morning. If it’d been evening or later, he’d second guess venturing into such territory. There’s no street lamps along the road. Red, and whoever else lives down there, willingly surrender themselves to the night when it falls.

The slope doesn’t dip too quickly, so Green is comfortable walking down it. He gazes at the houses along the way, how they follow their own sense of architecture and abide by their own rules. Some have two or three sheds, some have none at all. Some houses are tiny, others large. Some look more western and a little modern, others don’t. Green is happy they’re spaced out. If they were closer together, it’d look like the most ragtag neighborhood he’d ever seen.

This is an unusual and interesting place, which makes it perfect for Red, whose house sits at the end of the street. The road continues for a short time before ending abruptly. A dead end.

Red’s house is a cabin with a roof that extends into an awning, catching leaves and other debris on its surface. Behind the cabin is nothing but forest. In front, a red mailbox sits on the corner of the property near the street. On the porch sit a few plants that look to be the same kind as the ones he’d seen in Gardenia’s home. The wood is a tawny brown color which the sunlight gleams off of kindly. It looks cozy, small, a nice place for a person to live.

Green walks up the three steps and stands on the porch. He spends entirely too long trying to locate the doorbell before realizing there probably _isn’t_ one. So, he knocks instead, three loud but quick raps to get Red’s attention.

He hears movement on the inside; the soft thud of footsteps on wood and the door soon opens to reveal Red in all his glory.

Well, not glory _exactly_. He’s covered in splotches of paint.

Purple, yellow, orange, red, blue, and green cover Red in random places. His loose jeans are completely unrecognizable as jeans. If they weren’t rolled up at the ankles, Green wouldn’t know what kind of pants he’s wearing. His shirt _used_ to be white, possibly. It’s so very hard to tell. There’s paint on his face, his arms, and in his hair. His hands are nothing but paint. It’s not the best look, but Green’s seen people walk around in worse.

Green absorbs this. He takes in Red’s disgracefully unique appearance. He makes peace with it. He remembers why he’s here. He proceeds with that. “Uhm, hey.”

Red’s... _blushing?_ Green isn’t sure, but he’s doing that small smile that usually accompanies a blush. He fidgets as he places his hand on the doorframe and the other rises in a shy wave.

Green’s lips quirk up into a smile. “Sorry for showing up so suddenly. I see you’re...busy.”

Red’s smile drops and Green bites his tongue to stop his laughter.

“I just have a quick question. An invitation,” Green continues. “Do you want to come over to Daisy’s for dinner tomorrow? She wants to meet you properly.”

Red’s eyes widen and before any expectations or assumptions rear their ugly heads, Green raises his hands and tries to put a stop to them.

“It’s casual, not formal. ‘Sides, Bebe wants to repay you for your help at the market, as do I. We figured the least we can do is make you a nice meal.”

Honestly, Green fully expects Red to say no. If big parties like the barn are a no, then he can’t imagine smaller get-togethers being a yes. And there’s the added pressure of them being _together_. It’ll be full of questions that Red will have to shake or nod his head to or write some answers out and Green understands if that sounds taxing.

Before Red can answer, Green takes a step closer, a hand on his hip. “Don’t feel like you have to say yes.”

But Red tilts his head in confusion at Green’s consideration. He bites his lip, which is somehow not covered in paint, and then gives a nod of acceptance.

Now it’s Green’s turn for his eyes to widen. “You sure?”

Another nod, quicker this time.

“Alright.”

That concludes his business, but Green’s curiosity has him peeking behind Red to see the interior of his house. What does it look like? What style of furnishings are inside? Is it filled with his artwork, hanging in picture frames all over the walls? Is it subdued or loud? He wants to know, but just as with everything else concerning Red, he wants to be allowed.

Then, Red grabs his hand and opens his door a little more. Then, Red interlaces his paint-stained fingers with Green’s clean ones. Then, Red looks up at him with excitement between the splashes of color, teeth showing as a bright smile creates a rainbow.

“Uh,” Green breathes, eyes captivated by dark brown and a kaleidoscope of pigments. “Yeah, okay.”

Red tugs him inside.

The inside is cozier than Green expected it to be. There’s scented candles lit around the main room of the cabin. There’s a comfy looking grey couch in the middle of the room, and a table with a rug underneath it. There’s books on the table but also bookshelves all around the room, filled to the brim with reading material of various sizes.

The kitchenette area is clean, but small, just enough for one person. There’s a few plants here and there, tucked in corners and moved out of the way. It’s got that rustic charm to it, in the finish of the wood and the sweet smell of pumpkin and spice.

But, Green notices, there’s no television. There’s no phone. He wonders if it’s impossible to get cable out here, but dismisses the thought. Red probably isn’t interested in watching television. It defeats the purpose of being here.

Nevertheless, Green feels at peace in Red’s little home. He looks over at his paint tinged boyfriend and smiles. “Nice place.”

Red doesn’t look at him but squeezes his hand. He leads Green out of the main room and down a short hallway with three doorways. Red takes him into the first one, and what Green sees is...amazing, to say the least.

Hanging on the wall is a wide canvas _teeming_ with life. It spans nearly the entire back wall, and painted on its surface is a clear blue sky with swirling clouds and a field of tulips in an ombré of color. From a light pink to a dark deep violet, they are numerous, each one given appropriate shading and lighting from the sun painted overhead.

It’s _breathtaking_ and Green can do nothing but behold it, his feet rooted to the ground and his mouth shut tight.

At some point, Red lets go of his hand and steps onto the newspaper on the floor that keeps the paint from spilling on the wood. The acrylic paint bottles are scattered about his feet and sitting on an end table nearby is a cup of paintbrushes and a jar of water.

Green finds his voice before Red can get back to work. “Red, this is…” But he can’t think of a word to describe it. The only thing he can accurately process and think on, besides the lovely agreement of colors and subject matter before him, is the feelings that stir his heart. He looks upon the canvas with wonder, confusion, awe and appreciation. He looks at it with love, not only for the truth of its beauty, but for the hands that had painted it.

Red turns back to him with a paintbrush in his hand. He waits a second for Green to finish, but when he doesn’t, he bites his cheek and smiles in a goofy way. He’s making fun of Green for not being able to finish his sentence.

“Shut up,” Green mutters, walking onto the newspaper, but giving Red some space. He doesn’t want to intrude, but getting a closer look isn’t offensive, right? “It’s really pretty. I mean, it’s beautiful.”

Red twiddles his paintbrush between two fingers. He does that searching gaze that Green’s long since gotten used to. While he does this, Green has a hard time keeping eye contact, his retinas attracted to the bright colors before him.

Red, having found what he’s looking for, steps over bottles of acrylic paint and the mess of his own work process to take Green’s hand and lead him elsewhere in the room.

There’s not much space, but Red positions Green in the small corner by the doorway. There, he faces Green toward the wall to look at nothing but wood, but Red moves with purpose and makes his intentions clear in time. He exits the room but soon returns with a much smaller canvas and an easel under his arm. He places both of these things in front of Green, and it’s easy to see where this is going.

“Wait, hey—” Green begins to protest, but Red’s already moving back to his painting area to pick up bottles of paint and a semi-clean paint tray. Then back to Green he goes, handing him the painting tray and a brush. Red brings over a small stool to set a glass of water on to clean the paintbrush and suddenly, Green has his own painting station.

“Look, I’m—I’m not an artist.” Green tries to get Red to take back the tray and the paint and the easel and everything, but Red’s a bulwark of stubbornness. He insists. He won’t take no for an answer, and his expression, though obscured by smears of paint, asks Green what’s the harm? It’s just some paint. There’s no one here but the two of them.

But that’s just the thing, Green thinks, as Red moves back over to his professional area with his mega wide canvas. Compared to Red’s work with the softness of the tulip petals and the peace of the early morning captured and placed on that canvas, Green’s work will undoubtedly come up short. It’ll look stupid next to that and he _feels_ stupid painting something himself when there’s a much more capable and talented artist right beside him.

“Red,” Green calls, still holding the empty paint tray and brush. “Red, I can’t paint!”

Those words get Red to turn sharply. His expression is the definition of disappointment; the brows set heavily on his forehead, the crossed arms, the disagreement in his frown. That statement, to Red, is utterly incorrect.

Green can paint. Red’s given him all the tools to do so. The only thing stopping him is himself.

And, _yeah_ , Green’s stopping himself. He can’t paint!

Red has turned his back on Green’s plight. He’s doing something to his canvas that looks like it’s an important part of the whole process. Maybe checking for last minute fixes or something. Either way, he’s left Green to his easel and that’s that.

Green glares at his back fiercely. “Stupid paint-covered asshole,” he mumbles, looking to the blank canvas in front of him. Is it really his task to fill all that white with color? To create and make with his own two hands? Is there no right answer? No instruction for him to follow? No formulas or definitive right answers that have stood the test of time and been scientifically proven to be true again and again?

He’s very much out of his breadth here. He’s not the creative type. Red didn’t give him so much as a hint, leaving Green to float along the waves alone.

Hm. Waves...

Green leans down and picks up the blue bottle of paint. It takes him a minute to open it, but once he does he squirts a decent amount into a groove of the tray. Next comes a sandy tan color, then some dark green and yellow.

There’s a technique to painting. Green isn’t so out of touch with the creative world that he thinks there aren’t steps to follow and general guidelines, but Green knows none of those. So, he begins, as all artists do, with a single brushstroke. A sweep of dark blue falls upon the canvas. An idea is beginning to form, an image about to be born from his hands. Green feels pressure on the back of his neck and hastily dips his brush into his paint to continue.

He continues to smear blue onto the canvas, creating a sky from plain white and cleans his brush when he’s finished. It looks so...uninspired. Ugly, without the experience in the craft to back it up.

Green looks over at pretty tulip petals and a sky that sings. He can imagine himself in that meadow. He can feel the soft texture of blossoms on his fingertips, he can breathe in that sweet smelling air. And what story does Green have to tell compared to that? Why does he need to say anything when something so much better exists not even a foot away from him?

The paintbrush stays within the small bottle of water, the vivid blue color dissolving into a diluted and paltry imitation. He has confidence when it’s something he’s sure about. Green’s an academic genius, a convivial delight who brings life and fun to every party and meeting he attends. He’s knowledgeable and intelligent. He’s built his success around that, but when pushed to do something so off kilter, that long forgotten self-doubt rears its head.

A paint-coated finger pokes his cheek, and Green turns his head slightly to see Red’s agitated eyes. He moves behind Green and places his hands just underneath his jaw. In a single movement, he turns Green’s head to face his own canvas and not Red’s piece. Then, he squishes Green’s cheeks together.

“Owkway, I gwet it!” Green speaks, or tries to with Red’s hands in the way. He squirms until Red gets the hint to leave him be. “I won’t look at yours anymore.”

Red places a kiss to his temple and leaves Green to stir his brush around uselessly in the water, blushing as pink as the tulips.

From that timely intervention, Green sets about just...finishing the piece, at least. Follow through with what he’d thought of. Leaving it unfinished isn’t an option. He dips his brush into the tan color next and works on coloring the bottom of the canvas. When that’s done, he goes for the dark green and tries to paint some grass in the corner.

The sky is blue and the sand is tan, but they’re both barren. He needs something else—Seashells? Stars? Both of those things require colors he doesn’t have near him. He looks over at Red’s area and sees the paint bottles around his feet.

Green crosses the short distance in three steps. “Do you need the pink and white?”

Red’s surprised to see him. He shakes his head and watches as Green picks up the bottles and walks back to his little corner of the world.

Seashells are added to the beach. Stars are added to the sky. A moon comes, too, when he mixes white and yellow together to make an off-white. His ocean looks bare. He tries to add some moonlight reflecting off the water, but it doesn’t translate well from his hands to the page. It looks a lot more splotchy. Ah, well. Nothing for it but to continue.

Green continues adding small details, trying things. He powers through self-deprecation, thoughts of comparison, and disappointment when something doesn’t turn out the way he wants. It’s fine, he keeps telling himself. Just finish.

And when he does finish, when the paintbrush is sitting in the glass jar of brown water and his hands are dirty with paint, he takes a step back and looks at his artwork with a critical eye.

It looks like a five year old’s work.

At Green’s very heavy and very deep sigh of disappointment, Red comes rushing over behind Green. He stares with wide eyes at the scene on the canvas.

Green, however, doesn’t share in that sense of wonderment.

“I hate this,” he mutters, frowning with disgust. It’s too simple and novice-like. It’s nothing compared to mice in fields and tulip-filled meadows. It’s _ugly_ compared to babbling brooks and words tangled together to make spirals and patterns and boxes. It’s a moon and a blue night sky and what’s supposed to be a beach. It’s nothing like what he pictured in his head. It’s frustrating and wrong and Green _hates_ it.

How can Red expect him to paint something good after showing him that beautiful tulip painting? How can Green measure up to _that?_

Red doesn’t react to Green’s admonishes. He continues to peer over Green’s shoulder at his failed painting, offering no words or feedback, and maybe that’s for the best. Green doesn’t want his work critiqued and if Red could hold in his laughter until _after_ Green leaves and is a good ways down the road, that would be great.

But no shakes of laughter come. No teasing smiles or sympathetic glances. Red stares and will probably continue to do so until Green asks him something, gets Red out of his own head and drags him back to reality.

Green peers at Red’s messy face. “What do you see?”

Red lights up at the question, smiling with delight. He reaches over to Green’s painting tray and dips his finger into the dark blue paint. He takes Green’s arm in his other hand, and upon his slightly tanned skin, writes in lovely blue letters, _“Freedom.”_

Red arrives promptly for dinner, ringing the doorbell at the exact time they’d agreed upon. His outfit is a bit different tonight. He’s wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt over his usual white one, and his jeans are cleaner, slimmer, fancier, one would think, compared to the worn pants he normally walks around in. Clean white tennis shoes replace tattered sneakers. The hat is still there, but Green would be aghast if it wasn’t.

It’s an ample opportunity to get a blush in before Daisy and Bebe ruin his fun, so Green leans against the doorway and eyes his boyfriend from head to toe. “You look good,” he compliments, to which Red’s cheeks grow pink.

Red lowers his hat and looks down at his nice shoes. He’s got a new sketchbook in his hand, one likely bought just for tonight. He’s probably expecting plenty of questions.

Green hovers in the doorway, deciding what to do before he slips out into the night and shuts the front door behind him. He reaches for Red’s free hand and takes it, dipping his head to catch a dark brown eye. “You didn’t have to dress all fancy. I told you it’s casual.”

Like Green can talk with his navy blue button up, pristine white jeans, and dark brown vans. But he’s always been one for dressing up and looking his best, the direct opposite of Red who cares little for what he wears except for that hat of his.

“Can I have a kiss before we go in?” Green asks, continuing with his harmless teasing. And because he legitimately wants a kiss. He’s tickled pink that Red thought to dress up, that he followed through with it, that he’s taking this silly dinner so seriously. Red’s thoughtfulness and kindness have already captured his heart, and this is just the latest action to send those bubbling feelings surging through him.

Red lifts his hat and peeks at Green. He’s so embarrassed, the goof, but he swoops down and kisses Green lightly on the lips. A quick peck to get them through dinner.

Hm…

Green leans forward and steals another, and then one more.

They enter the house hand in hand and Daisy and Bebe _immediately_ start with the smirks and smugness. They usher Red to the dinner table and hand him a beer. The bowls aren’t ready for the meal, so Green moves to the kitchen counter and starts scooping rice.

“When did you and Green meet?” Daisy asks, and the sound of pencil on paper follows. “Really? That soon after he’d arrived?”

“Sounds like fate,” Bebe chimes in.

Green cuts the unagi in perfect slices, proportioning it fairly for four bowls of unadon. The questions continue for Red, but they’re not _too_ bad.

“How old are you?”

The sound of rustling paper.

“Twenty-six?”

“Two years older than Green, huh. That’s surprising!”

“Bebe.”

“What? He doesn’t look it.”

“Red, please take that as a compliment. Now—”

“Is Red your real name?”

_“Bebe!”_

“What? I’m curious!”

Green starts bringing small dishes to the table. He tries to catch Red’s eye, but he’s writing furiously in order to answer Bebe and Daisy’s questions.

It’s when Green makes his final trip, delivering the main dish to the table and taking his seat, that he relieves Red of his duty. “If you two keep grilling him, you’re going to know more about him than I do.”

“I don’t see the problem with that,” Bebe jokes.

Green kicks her foot under the table.

“Honestly, Green, can you blame us?” Daisy says. “It’s not like you’ve told us much about him.”

“Right? When _Byron_ knows more than I do, it’s a problem,” Bebe agrees.

“I just want to know what my little brother’s up to,” Daisy coos, reaching over to pinch Green’s cheek, which he quickly puts a stop to. “You’re so private about your life sometimes. It’s hard to know what’s on your mind.”

“Daisy…”

Bebe nods. “We know you’re an adult, we’re just curious! Who cares if you want to fool around wit—”

“Anyway!” Green says, because he does _not_ want to discuss such things with his sister present. “Let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

Red’s interrogation takes a break then as they start eating. Green has to get up to return to the kitchen a few times to refill bowls of rice, get more cans of beer, and slice up more green onions.

As their bellies grow full and their spirits high, the questions pick up again, but at a much slower rate. Daisy starts in with the embarrassing childhood stories until Green turns it around on her and tells some of her memorable moments, which Bebe is very eager to hear. They steer clear of asking Red about his art, knowing how secretive he is about it thanks to Green’s information, but the location of his house is something that neither Bebe nor Daisy can ignore.

“Do you like living there?” Bebe asks.

Red nods.

“Do you own that place?” asks Daisy, and at Red’s responsive shake of his head, she blinks. “You’re renting it?”

Red nods and takes another bite of his food.

Green finishes off his beer in one long drink. Huh.

“I like that area,” Bebe speaks up. “It gets real dark at night. Lots of wild animals around there.”

Red nods enthusiastically. The wildlife is probably one of the reasons why he chose to rent that spot. Green wouldn’t put it past him to run off into the forest, tailing critters in order to capture their beauty in his sketchbook. It’s a very _Red_ thing to do.

Daisy leans toward Red with interest. “I admit, I’ve seen you before in Solaceon in years past. Do you always come during the summer?”

Again, Red nods. He finishes chewing his food and reaches for his sketchbook.

_vacation_

“Ah, just like Green,” Daisy mumbles.

Bebe grins wide and sings over a mouthful of food, “It’s fate!”

So, Green had been right about that feeling of escape, Red running from something and seeking solace in the carefree nature of Solaceon Town.

Daisy sets her glass of beer on the table, staring down at it as her smile gains a tinge of sorrow. “But it’s sad, too. Summer’s nearly over now.”

The reminder dampens the mood of the table, Green biting his lip and Red looking down at his lap. The months had passed by so quickly. Green had been blissfully ignorant of it, living from moment to moment and ignoring the calendar as much as he could. But time flows on, seasons come and go, and no matter how badly they want things to stay as they are, change has to come.

Bebe sits with her head propped up with a hand, a lazy, inebriated smile on her face. “Treasure your summer together. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up like me and Daisy, living together and kickin’ it here in Solaceon Town”

Green frowns. “Bebe, you’re the one thing I won’t miss about this summer.”

“Green!”

_“Rude.”_

The joke succeeds in brightening the mood. While Bebe and Daisy get deeper into their liquor and jump from topic to topic, laughing and enjoying themselves ,Green feels a hand take his under the table. He looks over to see Red smiling at him, their hands warm and connected.

Green holds onto that feeling for as long as he possibly can.

They meet in the wheat field again at summer’s end.

It’s the tail end of July, and August creeps menacingly towards them. It places a hand on Green’s shoulder, reminding him of where he came from and where he has to return to. They sit among the wheat and beneath the late afternoon sky, Red’s head resting in Green’s lap. In his hands, Red has his sketchbook which is a tangle of words, grammar, and punctuation. On Green’s head is Red’s hat, effective in keeping some of the sun’s heat at bay.

The morning and afternoon has been spent talking, recalling their favorite moments together and optimistically theorizing about what comes next. There’s a calm between them, as if they both know this isn’t the end. The unrest stems from the lives they’re returning to now, the business, the difficulty, the responsibility once again being carried on their shoulders.

Green’s hand plays with a lock of Red’s hair. The wheat moves with the breeze and rustles together. Red closes his eyes and lets the song of nature ease him into peace.

“Do you think I’ve gotten it back?” Green asks, his head tilted upward, his eyes closed, his smile light and soft as a piece of wheat brushes his cheek.

Red immediately knows what he’s talking about. He’s intuitive that way, able to connect and see things in people that they don’t see themselves. He writes with his paintbrush-pen and answers Green’s question in a decadent swirl of letters.

_yeah. you look a lot better now_

Green snorts. He pulls on Red’s ear to get his mouth to twist up into a smile and then leaves him be. The crows caw overhead. The cicadas sing from their hidden places in the trees. Sounds and scenery come together to form a perfect image of summer, one that Green sits and listens to, looks at, and appreciates deep inside.

“I hope I don’t lose it,” Green mumbles, taking the energy and warmth of the sun and feeding it in his soul.

Red adds to his picture.

_you won’t_

Green grimaces. Red says that with such confidence, but the literal hell waiting for Green back in Saffron will be a test of his patience and heart. But that’s just it, he thinks, as his fingers comb through thick brown hair. Memories are there to bring forth reminders of easier times, of cherished moments, of knowledge and growth and lessons.

“If I do, I’ll just think of you,” Green whispers, and it’s so terribly cheesy, but it’s what he feels. If Red can just say what he feels without restraint, Green doesn’t see why he can’t do the same.

Red doesn’t add anything, but he looks up at Green with a smile that says it all. Lips slightly pursed, eyes crinkled with mirth, cheeks reddened slightly. Red’s a cross between amused and touched.

Green's smile softens and his hand stills. He knows he’ll carry this summer in his heart, especially this moment. When the concrete and metal becomes too much, he’ll return to wheat fields and fireweed, a hand holding his.

He leans down and, with an upward tilt of his hat, kisses Red on the lips. Red reaches up with a hand and winds it into Green’s hair.

 _I’ll think of you,_ they promise each other, because how could they not? Whatever happens from then on, they’ll have this summer in common, this moment, this breath, and this beautiful sunset full of warmth and freedom.

Green gazes at Red with love, and Red gazes back.

When the hour grows late and the sun is gone, they stand together, one in front of the other. There’s kisses and tears, but neither of them are sad. They’re memories to leave each other with, affection that will last over distance and time, soft and treasured and perfect.

But before they part for a time, soon to be reunited, Red closes his sketchbook shut and hands it to Green.

Exchanging gifts hadn’t been something Green thought they’d do, and at his panicked expression, Red consoles his fears. He presses the sketchbook into Green’s hands, insistent. It’s his, Red tells him with gentleness in his eyes. It’s been his since the day they met.

Their touches linger, their eyes stay connected, their smiles have hints of sadness, but hope for the future. They’re excited and determined to see each other again.

They part right as night begins to fall, Red going one way, and Green going another.

On his way back to Daisy’s, Green flips through the sheets of paper in that sketchbook. All of their conversations are there for him to reread. The artwork of the babbling brook, as well as plenty of sketches of rivers and oceans and people that he’s never seen. He nearly trips when he sees artwork of himself, erasure smudges stained into the paper where his hair is sketched out.

And on the very last page, there is a _mesmerizing_ picture of a cherry orchard. It’s different from Gardenia’s in that the trees aren’t separated into rows. They’re free to grow where they like, where they please, and the entire thing is colored in a light dusting of colored pencil.

At the bottom, there are words written in Red’s neat handwriting. Two sentences that make his heart ache with pain and love both.

_You have something beautiful deep inside you. Thanks for sharing it with me._

Below that is a phone number, and even further below that is a social media handle. Puzzled, Green pulls out his phone and types in the words, not sure what to expect on the front page…

But it certainly isn’t the very same tulip painting he’d seen in Red’s house as the top post with _thousands_ of likes and shares. Not to mention a follower base of— _thirty-four million?!_

Green drops his phone.

His boyfriend is an amazingly _famous_ artist and he just found out about it.

The summer ends just as bizarrely as it began.


End file.
